


Belt Buckle + Paperclip

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Prompt Fics [64]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Hurt/Comfort, Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Muzzle, Restraints, Shippy if you Squint, Whump, shackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: The roles are reversed as it's Mac's turn to do the talking.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Prompt Fics [64]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540795
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69





	Belt Buckle + Paperclip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rai_Knightshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rai_Knightshade/gifts).



> prompt from rai, gagging/muzzled + defiance

“You picked the wrong guy to put a muzzle on, you know.”

Mac meets Jack’s eyes, as wide as his eyebrows are thick, as crazed as his hair is pointed up in such a mess from being grabbed that it is reminiscent of his old faux hawk look. He can feel the ripples of anger emitting from his clenched veins, particularly throbbing from the one vein in his neck that hasn’t stopped since they were both shackled to the rusted metal chairs that are separated just a few feet apart, face to face.

But he knows that just like the cage in front of his mouth that the look in Jack’s eyes is just a mask. He can see through the glaze of anger clouding his irises a twinkle of determination that warms the goosebumps raising all over Mac’s skin. 

Though the sight of Jack showing that he’s not letting his personal hell get to him instills a bit of hope in Mac that perhaps everything _will_ be okay, he can’t help his anxiety of their collective captivity at the hands of a tall, imposing man in a dark cloak. He shifts uncomfortably as he washes his tongue over his lips before he continues speaking. He’s not used to this feeling–well, that was a partial lie, as he is no stranger to restraints, including the large enclosures clamped over his fists, preventing him from using his hands to get them out of their current predicament, which is really just another day on the job for the field agents of the Phoenix Foundation.

More than anything, he’s just not used to being _the talker._

“You guys really should have done your research, cause I’ll have you know I’m a five time debate champion in not just one, but _two_ states, and in oh, I don’t know, maybe ten to fifteen minutes’ time, me and Hannibal Lecter over there are gonna be walking on sunshine right out of this stinky hellhole–and I mean, really, you couldn’t have picked a more pungent sewer to keep us in? Oh, I’m guessing you don’t know what ‘pungent’ means based on that look on your face, it means having a ‘sharply strong taste or smell,’ just like the smell of of the absolute horseshi–”

Mac is momentarily silenced with a five-fingered slap of leather to his face.

“Alright…make that five minutes,” Mac laughs as he resets his jaw, his cheek tingles.

“You can stop this nonsense, my client told me that _he–”_ the captor pointed to Jack, without turning back to look at him, “is just an annoying mouthpiece and that _you–”_ Mac is jabbed in the chest with two fingers that push him to the end of chain that keeps his hands and feet chained to a loop in the chair, _“_ are just a little boy who doesn’t know when to keep his hands to himself.”

“Client? So this is a job for you, huh? As part of some sort of agency? Which agency? Can I talk to your manager, cause I’m getting the sense that you _really_ don’t play well with others–”

Another slap to the other cheek this time, and Mac can feel the heat blossom as quickly as a dark shade of red tints over the small window of Jack’s face.

“My client never lies. You are bluffing, you can do _nothing_ without your little red knife, and he can do _nothing_ without his distracting nonsense.”

“’Never lies,’ huh? Are you sure your roles aren’t switched, cause anybody who’s telling you they never lie is usually trying to sell _you_ something–”

“Silence!” the captor yells, this time giving Mac a deep punch to his gut that knocks the air out of his windpipe. “Perhaps I should fetch something to gag that smart mouth of yours.” 

“Bit too…late for that, isn’t it? Cat’s outta the bag, we got a nice…rapport going, I think we’re…finally making some real pr-progress in this relationship, you know,” Mac coughs.

“Shut up, boy!” 

The chains jostle in the air, as Mac is sent backwards, his head bounces off of the cold concrete while his hands and feet are pulled tighter in their entanglement, constricting his movements even more than before. He begins to rock himself side to side before his assailant walks over and presses the sole of his foot on the side of Mac’s face, squishing his lips together.

Mac makes a sound not unlike a gurgle, almost but not quite forming a coherent word.

“Oh, what’s that? I can’t hear you,” the man taunts, bending over with a hand behind his ear. 

Mac grunts through gritted teeth, trying to flop his body out of submission. 

“Did you _finally_ run out of things to say? Are you ready to cooperate?”

“I’ll go ahead and answer that for you, it’s a big ol’ N-O…

The corners of Mac’s lips crinkle under the grooves of the boot, as Jack’s voice sounds like an orchestral choir in his ears. He can just barely see the large, bulky outline of his body behind their captor, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck and putting a hand over his mouth.

“You know what they say, it’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for,” Jack whispers, before the man unceremoniously passes out and falls to the floor like a dead fly.

“Time?” Jack huffs as he helps Mac sit up, before getting to work on undoing the shackles on his ankles. 

“Four minutes, fifty seconds,” Mac grins.

“Mm. New record. Might need to start altering the script soon, huh?”

“How did you…?”

“Belt buckle and paperclip. Always keep a spare in case you need something to fiddle with,” Jack drawls. He unlocks Mac’s hands, gently holding his wrists steady while Mac flexes his free fingers with a soft groan.

“Which, uh, sorry, man, got a head start on this one,” Jack offers, placing the bent object in the palm of Mac’s hand, which more of resembles a jagged satellite antenna than a paperclip. 

“Just glad you didn’t give me the belt buckle. Speaking of which…” Mac pointedly stares at Jack’s undone belt, and how his pants are split apart in the front.

“Oh, yeah, I uh…tried going for the zipper first,” Jack clears his throat. “Don’t look at me like that, I was on a time crunch! That man was about to slap you six ways to Sunday.” 

“I could take it,” Mac shrugs off, before Jack places a hand on his knee, and his smug smile flattens to a grimace. 

“Not with that amount of wincing, we need to get you to medical, asap as possible, hoss!” Jack gently but firmly pulls Mac out of the chair and immediately slings his arm over his shoulder, pulling most of the weight as they make their escape. “And on the way, we can talk about your pop culture references and lack thereof, if we’re gonna reverse roles, I expect at least one between each slap.”

“You know, I think I liked you better with the muzzle on,” Mac teases, stroking the red imprint on Jack’s chin.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, metal mittens. Love you too.”


End file.
